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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24568771">All Our Histories Laid Bare</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kari_Kurofai/pseuds/Kari_Kurofai'>Kari_Kurofai</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Maps Untraveled, Atlas Bound [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Engineer (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Allusions to Cesarean Section, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Breeding Kink, Discussions of Teen Pregnancy, Emotional Heat, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Knotting, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:41:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,986</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24568771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kari_Kurofai/pseuds/Kari_Kurofai</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m asking because you’re really close to your heat,” Duen clarifies before he can make all the wrong assumptions. “And if you’ve been on blockers for . . .” He hesitates, the number sticking to the roof of his mouth before he gives up and reveals that he knows this thing, too, “six years, almost seven.” He’s not surprised when Bohn flinches, less surprised even when he lowers his other hand to wring his shirt over his stomach with the first one. “It’s probably going to be pretty intense, and that’s why you’re nesting. I don’t want to do something without your permission, okay?”</p><p>Bohn isn’t meeting his eyes, and Duen’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. He strokes his thumb over his boyfriend’s cheek, waits and keeps waiting as the minutes tick away. Eventually, Bohn does glance at him, and Duen hates that he can both see and smell the anguish as it rolls down his cheeks. “I don’t think any less of you,” he whispers, and Bohn chokes on a sound that staggers with relief. “Phi,” he soothes, tearing up himself now. “I knew the whole time. I’ve never thought any less of you.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bohn/Duen (My Engineer)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Maps Untraveled, Atlas Bound [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1794442</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>T/CBL</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>All Our Histories Laid Bare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>IMPORTANT NOTES:</p><p>After much debate I went with a very non-traditional version of A/B/O with this based on some other very lovely fics in the genre. And since this trope is just a huge metephor for different aspects of the queer community anyways I can do what I want.</p><p>To get straight to the point, in this verse people have two genders, primary and secondary. Primary is determined by general body type or preference of presentation, and includes masculine, feminine, and whatever else floats your boat. Secondary gender is the a/b/o, and is determined by, among other factors, genetalia. Betas fluctuate, but the greater percentage have the asab junk to match their primary gender. However, all alphas have penises and all omegas have vaginas. This is not up for debate, this is my au. If you want something else go elsewhere. This does not make this any less of a gay story. Men can have vaginas. If you want to read this as a trans metaphor feel free because it can absolutely be read that way, but for me as a nonbinary person it's just "eeehhhh fuck ur binary, gender is whatever!" which is kinda the vibe of the best A/B/O fics anyways.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Duen realizes Bohn is nesting somewhere between his third and fifth shirt that turns up missing. Well, that’s not exactly correct, they’re not actually missing because he’s known where they are the whole time. Bohn hasn’t really been subtle with swiping them while he’s in the shower and stuffing them under his preferred side of the mattress. But it’s all pretty textbook omega behavior, so Duen doesn’t really give it much thought until it happens more than once and starts turning into a hoard. He just takes one of Bohn’s shirts from his closet in exchange and doesn’t comment on it because it all kind of evens out considering that he himself is basically addicted to rubbing his cheek all over Bohn’s neck every chance he gets. A shirt or seven or whatever is a small price to pay in exchange for scenting all over his boyfriend like a god damn stereotype. </p><p>They haven’t talked about what the plan is when the heat actually hits, but that’s mostly because Duen would rather let Bohn ask him than the other way around. It feels too much like pressuring if he asks, doesn’t taste right on his tongue. He knows Bohn spent a heat alone right after they first met, and if he’s not ready for more just four months later Duen isn’t going to be fussy about it. Hell, he’s not even really sure <em> he’s </em> ready for that, only that he’ll be willing should he be asked. How could he not be? It’s <em> Bohn</em>. And he still gets just a little bit dizzy when he thinks about how quickly and fiercely he’s fallen in love with him.</p><p>But then he comes back with groceries one day to find the apartment in absolute disarray and Bohn standing in the middle of it all with the bedsheets and comforter bundled up in his arms looking frazzled and confused, and Duen knows something is <em> wrong</em>. He sets the shopping down on the counter, ignoring that the granite is littered with textbooks from his backpack he’d discarded when he’d left, and approaches with his palms held up in a manner he hopes is placating. “Hey,” he soothes when Bohn whips around to stare at him, eyes wide and wild. Duen parts his lips a little, just enough to test the air and make sure it’s not yet honey and heated. Neither of them needs that added stress, that note of temptation and inhibition, and he’s relieved to find they haven’t quite reached that point. He makes it to Bohn’s side without incident, but notes the way his boyfriend’s nostrils flare once he settles his hands on his upper arms. “Hey,” he says again. “Are you okay?”</p><p>Bohn blinks, and the glazed bemusement in his gaze shifts towards something clearer. He drops the bedding in his arms almost immediately, mouth popping open. “Wha- what the fuck? What am I doing?”</p><p>Duen stares at him. Isn’t it . . . Isn’t it obvious? It’s not like it’s his first heat. Unless . . . “Bohn,” he asks hesitantly, cradling the side of his face with one hand, letting his fingers trail over his neck, his thumb over his cheek where he knows his scent markers to be. Bohn’s always had a lower, less prominent smell than other omegas, he’s not sure why he didn’t notice that earlier, and when he’s around anyone but Duen it’s almost beta neutral. “How long have you been on hormone blockers?” </p><p>The worst part is that he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer down to the exact day, month, and year. It makes sense, but it still leaves him feeling a little nauseous. That thought is only confirmed when Bohn leans away from his touch looking absolutely stricken.</p><p>“I’m not . . .” He tries, but Duen winces in the face of the almost lie and watches him bite down on his own tongue. Promises aside though, if Bohn wanted to spin him some tale about this, Duen’s not sure he could fault him for it. But he doesn’t, he merely snaps his mouth shut and stares off over Duen’s shoulder, unfocused and shaking just slightly. “How long have you known?” he asks instead of answering, and it sounds so bitter it makes something tight and angry twist in Duen’s gut. </p><p>The fact that he knows instantly that Bohn isn’t asking how he figured out about the hormone blockers leaves him cold, but the fury pooling in his veins isn’t for anyone in this room. Bohn has always been blatant about who he is, and the fact that he wasn’t about this one thing is more than enough for Duen to fill in the blanks. Something of his unease must be too obvious though, because Bohn has tensed up beneath his hands, is fisting his fingers in his shirt and dragging him closer like he thinks Duen might try and pull away. “The whole time,” Duen says as soon as he’s sure he can say it steadily. “Hormone blockers don’t really do much when there’s a mutual attraction, you know. It’s not strong, but it’s kind of all over the apartment.” Their scents wouldn’t mix together in quite the same way otherwise. It would smell different, not overlap with that delicate intricacy, but if Bohn has spent over six years on hormone blockers and without a steady relationship he’d have no idea unless he took the time to read up on it.</p><p>Which, engineering student or not, Bohn using his scant free time to do any sort of leisure reading is utterly laughable. The degree is going to be just for show as it is, a thing to hang on the wall to satisfy his parents, and Duen realizes why now with the sickening clarity that only comes with hindsight. He should probably let Bohn know that he knows that little tidbit, too. That he’s known the whole time, but the words clog in his throat, thick with grief at the very thought of saying them. His questions, too, die on his tongue before they can be voiced, every one too personal, probably too painful, to bring up now. So instead he finds himself saying, “You’ve never nested,” and already knows it to be true.</p><p>“No,” Bohn agrees, matter of fact and just a little hollow. “Meds are supposed to squash that out.”</p><p>Duen swallows, guilt wallowing in his chest. “I’m sorry. That’s my fault. If there’s a new alpha in the territory for an extended period of time, it can override some of that.”</p><p>It definitely hasn’t helped that he’s been scenting him, if anything that’s probably only made it worse. Most kids don’t start going through the whole nine yards of a heat or rut till somewhere between sixteen and eighteen, and he already knows Bohn hadn’t been that old when he’d been put on blockers. </p><p>Fourteen, Duen thinks, dazed and a little sick with that knowledge. In the back of his mind he’d known Bohn had been that old when . . . But to be on blockers ever since . . .</p><p>He frowns then, mostly to himself, as he remembers the fact that their relationship has been public on facebook for a few solid months now. There must be some caveats to whatever Bohn has worked out with his parents, or he wouldn’t have been nearly so brazen. Sure, neither of them have their secondary genders listed on their profiles (most people don’t, that’s just weird), but still. “I can’t believe they’re even letting you date me,” he hears himself say distantly, and clams up as soon as he realizes it’s slipped out.</p><p>Bohn stares at him for a long second before he tips back his head and laughs. “What? No, that’s- God, can you imagine? If you think I was a hellion when I-” He cuts himself off, shakes his head before he can say it, and Duen musters up a smile for him that he knows doesn’t manage to meet his eyes. “No. There’s no clause forbidding me to have relationships, if that’s what you mean. Just no . . . Uhm, nothing too . . . publicly . . . me . . .” There’s more to it, Duen knows, and his heart aches as he watches Bohn glance around the living room and the scattering of things he’s created. Clothes from the both of them, pillows, school books. Bohn’s eyes catch on the box of toys in the corner by the television, mostly untouched, and he pretends he doesn’t see when he fists a hand between them into the fabric of his own shirt just above his navel. “I’m allowed to do whatever after graduation though,” Bohn remarks with a level of faux cheerfulness that still somehow makes his voice break. “So that’s cool. Just three more years. Or two and a half if you’re really counting.” And he is, Duen knows he is. He’s probably counting the time away by days.</p><p>“Can I touch you?” </p><p>Bohn twists his head back around to stare at him, aghast and just a little bit hurt before Duen fits a hand over his cheek again, leans into press their foreheads together.</p><p>“I’m asking because you’re really close to your heat,” Duen clarifies before he can make all the wrong assumptions. “And if you’ve been on blockers for . . .” He hesitates, the number sticking to the roof of his mouth before he gives up and reveals that he knows this thing, too, “six years, almost seven.” He’s not surprised when Bohn flinches, less surprised even when he lowers his other hand to wring his shirt over his stomach with the first one. “It’s probably going to be pretty intense, and that’s why you’re nesting. I don’t want to do something without your permission, okay?”</p><p>Bohn isn’t meeting his eyes, and Duen’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. He strokes his thumb over his boyfriend’s cheek, waits and keeps waiting as the minutes tick away. Eventually, Bohn does glance at him, and Duen hates that he can both see and smell the anguish as it rolls down his cheeks. “I don’t think any less of you,” he whispers, and Bohn chokes on a sound that staggers with relief. “Phi,” he soothes, tearing up himself now. “I knew the whole time. I’ve <em> never </em> thought any less of you.”</p><p>This time the noise Bohn makes hitches closer to a laugh, “<em>Gross</em>, don’t call me that. That’s playing dirty and you know it.” He scrubs the heel of his hand over the cheek Duen doesn’t have cradled in his palm. </p><p>“Phi,” Duen grins, all teeth, and Bohn flips the hand around to press it against his face and push him away until he’s laughing, too. He snorts as Bohn wiggles up under his arms to flick him across the nose, falling still when a kiss is pecked to the corner of his mouth. “Careful,” he murmurs. From this close, blockers or not, he can taste that low, first hum of honey in the air. Shit, he thought he had a couple of days, but the medication had been deceptive here, too. He maybe has a couple of <em> hours</em>. “Bohn,” he warns. “You have to decide <em> now </em> if I need to go.”</p><p>He has time to leave, plenty of it in fact. But he also has time to stay, time to cook up a half dozen meals to store in the fridge and make sure Bohn showers. Time to see if they can get some headway on a decent nest that will keep Bohn satisfied, time to call out of any and all obligations for the next few days. It’s obvious what he wants, or at least he hopes it is, but he won’t ask for it. It’s not his decision to make. </p><p>Bohn nuzzles into his shoulder, and Duen quickly gets a hand between them, presses it to his forehead, and is relieved to find that his temperature is normal. Thank god. He does not want to have to call another omega in here to get Bohn squared away if he can help it. But Bohn still hasn’t given him an answer, and the minutes ticking by prickle the hairs on the back of his neck. </p><p>“I haven’t . . . Shared a heat with anyone,” Bohn says against his shoulder suddenly, softly. “Not since that first one. And we know how that went.”</p><p>Duen lets that knowledge twist as hashly in his gut as it wants, lets it squeeze the breath from his lungs and constrict around his heart as he reaches up to card his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. Bohn sags against him, the tension easing out of every line of his body in waves every time Duen touches him. “If you tell me to stay, I’ll stay,” he promises. And then, because it seems like he does in fact need to make that clear, he whispers, “I <em> want </em> to stay. I want to take care of you. But I don’t want you to ask me to unless that’s what <em> you </em> want, okay?”</p><p>In the movies first heats spent together are nothing but bliss and light, litanies of whispered affections and the fire of tangled bodies. But Duen knows that reality isn’t nearly as pretty. He thinks of Bohn at fourteen, angry and hurt and unaccepted, and how he’d probably thought of those bright-eyed movie promises too. The proof that the world isn’t nearly so wonderful, so clean cut and stuffed full of happy beginnings lives in this apartment three days a week. But the whole point of life is starting over, accepting things anew, and when Bohn murmurs, “I want you to stay,” Duen’s heart still soars as if it was penned on the pages of a script.</p><p>“Okay,” he breathes. “That means you have to listen to me for a little while now, alright?”</p><p>Bohn huffs against his neck, but replies with a muttered, “Fine,” that makes Duen snicker. So stubborn. “What should I do, mister med student?”</p><p>“You’re on the pill, right?” he asks, even though he’s certain Bohn hadn’t been given an alternative. Bohn nods into his shoulder. “Okay. You were a bit out of it earlier. Can you go double check you haven’t missed a day? I need to know if I have to go back to the store. And then you should shower.”</p><p>“So bossy,” Bohn says, but Duen can feel him smiling against his skin. “And what are you going to be doing?”</p><p>It’s goadingly accusatory, and Duen rolls his eyes even though he knows Bohn can’t see him doing it. “Cooking, cleaning up this mess, sending texts and emails to whom it may concern when we disappear for a few days.”</p><p>Bohn’s hands tighten where they’re tangled in the back of his shirt, and Duen winces a little when his nails dig in even through the fabric. “It’s not a ‘mess,’” he says lowly. “Don’t touch it. I’ll fix it when I get out of the shower.” He shuffles back then, and Duen’s worried that he’s genuinely annoyed until Bohn jabs a finger into his sternum and says, “Make omelettes,” he orders. “And crispy pork.”</p><p>He stomps off like he’s offended, but Duen can tell it’s all for show, and he laughs as he goes to make himself busy, too. Squaring away their schedules is top priority, he decides, and he’s halfway through wording a very awkward email to his mom when Bohn pads back into the livingroom and holds something out towards him. Duen almost takes it before he gets a good look at it, and pauses with his hand in mid air once he realizes what it is. “I trust you,” he says without hesitation. “You don’t have to show me. It’s your body, Bohn. I trust you.”</p><p>Bohn just lifts an eyebrow and continues holding the little packet of foil and plastic out to him. Gingerly, Duen takes it, hyper aware of the way that honeyed smell is starting to become more apparent in the air. He mentally flips through a couple of medical textbooks, mulls over passages about the potential necessity of being more dominant, and then tosses that all aside back where it came from. He’s never really fit the typical alpha role anyways, no reason to start now. However, he will do what Bohn asks of him if that makes him more comfortable. Duen flips the little foil packet around, peers at the number of pills missing and counts them until they match that day's date. “Good,” he praises aloud, and hides how the way Bohn shivering sparks his interest like wildfire behind a smile. Handing the packet back, he says, “Go shower,” and returns to his email. </p><p>The shower is still running when he wraps up that mortifying ordeal by finishing it off with a quick text to King to collect Bohn’s homework. He has a sneaking suspicion King might be the only other person who knows, but he keeps it vague anyways. His own text to Tingting is even more sparse, only telling her that he’s unwell and to get his assignments. He doesn’t send anything to Ram, trusting him to read between the lines as usual and figure things out for himself. </p><p>Bohn doesn’t say anything to him when he emerges from the bathroom a half hour later, just leans against his back for a bit and watches him work over the stove before wandering away to the livingroom to sort through the not-a-mess. Duen stays quiet, but watches him work with keen interest. He really hopes the comforter and sheets make it back to the bedroom, but he’s sorely disappointed when Bohn instead starts dragging the entire fucking coffee table away and returns with the mattress. Oh for-</p><p>He opens his mouth to object, and then quickly snaps it shut again. It’s not his business yet. Bohn will let him know when or if he wants his help.</p><p>The couch cushions eventually join the mattress on the floor, too, and the sheets at least are put back where they’re supposed to go. The comforter gets rolled up on one side of the new pile of things though, and Duen worries at his lower lip while he flips the pork over in the oil when he notices Bohn getting frustrated and moving it back and forth from one side to the other. “Do you have any other blankets?” he asks after the tenth time it gets shifted only to be tossed back across the room with a muttered swear. </p><p>“No,” Bohn curses, and Duen’s heart stutters as he realizes he can smell that it’s making him tense. “I’ve never needed any. Fuck. This is- I really hate this. This sucks.” He spreads the one he has out over one side of the mattress again, frowning, and then collapses to bury his face into it with a sigh. It would be dramatic on any other day, but Duen can hear the genuine distress in the sound. </p><p>He’s so focused on it all that he nearly jumps out of his skin when someone knocks on the door. Too focused, actually, because his reaction is way too intense, too instinctive, his teeth baring as a low growl rips through him. He stays still, his eyes darting to where Bohn is laying on the mattress, now peeking up at him through his bangs. Duen notes that he’s starting to get a little pink at the cheeks, and acknowledges it by forcefully shoving the growl down until it thrums and dies in his chest. He can’t hear anyone in the hall, and when he peers through the peephole there’s no one there, so he chances edging the door open only to be met with six folded blankets topped with a sticky note in familiar handwriting.</p><p>“<em>Thought you might need these</em>,” he reads to himself. “<em>Don’t worry, only P’King touched them and he used gloves</em>.”</p><p>They’re his blankets, Duen realizes. The ones from his house. Two are from his bed, another from the back of the sofa, and three more are ones he’s pretty sure haven’t seen the light outside his closet for at least a year. But when he checks they all still smell like him, and he really doesn’t have the time to be mortified that Ram and P’King apparently went to his house to fetch them. Neither, it seems, does Bohn, because he’s leaning against his shoulder a moment later, tugging at the topmost blanket before Duen has even finished looking through them. </p><p>Duen lets him have it and carries the rest to the edge of the mattress to set them down just outside the boundary of what Bohn’s actually working on and what’s still a total disaster. It’s a good decision, it seems, because when he tries to move them a little closer Bohn gives him a truly withering look over his shoulder. Alright then.</p><p>He only gets five meals done and packed away in the fridge before Bohn makes the neediest, breathiest little noise from the other side of the room and Duen’s entire body feels like it’s been set on fire. The honeyed scent has been steadily getting thicker in the air for the last hour or so, mixing with everything else until it’s laced with all the other smells that start to drive Duen a little bit nuts; all of Bohn’s favorite foods, his shampoo, his preferred cologne. And, of course, that strange, wonderful mix of his own scent and Bohn’s that has become uniquely them. It takes a lot more self control than he’d like to finish the dishes, and even more to make sure the door is firmly locked, the curtains closed. That last one guts him a little, since he has to walk around the seemingly finished nest, has to studiously avoid Bohn’s eyes watching him, ignore the flushed skin and low rhythm of his breath that’s starting to hitch into soft pants.</p><p>When he finally manages to look at him, meet his eyes as the curtains clack together in his hands, his stomach flips as he realizes Bohn is curled up on his front wearing only one of <em> his </em> shirts. <em> Holy shit</em>. </p><p>Duen’s pants are suddenly way too tight, his own shirt sticky against his skin, and he tugs uncomfortably at the hem of it as he leans down just outside the edge of the tangle of cushions and blankets. It’s the right thing to do, he notes immediately, because despite the hooded, heated way Bohn’s looking at him, he still tenses up at the movement, still curls into himself a little bit more. “It's not too late for me to leave,” Duen reminds, even though the very thought makes his chest actually <em> hurt</em>. Bohn shakes his head, hides his face in the curve of his arm, and Duen has to dig his nails into his own thighs to not just give in from that alone. Wait. <em> Wait</em>. “You have to tell me what you want,” he says gently. There’s a tang on the air, the faintest taste of fear, and Duen stays on his knees, doesn’t touch the boundaries of the nest, doesn’t go any further even though he desperately wants to. </p><p>He’s pretty good at putting himself in other people’s shoes, but he’s never managed to figure out if that will make him a good doctor or a bad one in the end. Whether he’s far too empathetic or just the right amount still remains to be seen. But it works for him right now, aids him well enough for this. Bohn hasn’t spent a heat with anyone in over six years, and the first and only time he did it had hadn't ended well. The fact that he can smell that tinge of fear isn’t really a surprise at all. The minutes stretch on, punctuated only by a few quiet, pitching breaths that come out a little too harshly from Bohn’s lungs to be entirely ignored. The scent, that honeysuckle heat, is overwhelming now, but still Duen waits.</p><p>“Can you tell me you love me?” Bohn whispers, out of the blue and so, so softly that Duen wouldn’t have heard it had his attention not been so rapt. </p><p>Oh, <em> god</em>. </p><p>“Bohn,” Duen says hoarsely. “Of course I love you. You know that.” Bohn nods into the crook of his arm, his face still hidden. “I love you so much,” Duen reiterates, fiercer, his nails digging into his thighs so hard he hears the fabric of his pants pop and puncture. “And I’m gonna be right here as long as you’ll have me, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>“Okay,” Bohn replies, choked, wet, and then finally, thank god, “Can you come here?”</p><p>Duen practically surges into the nest, breathless and aching in ways he didn’t know he could. Still, he’s careful when he first lays a hand on Bohn, cautious and slow as he flattens a palm out over his spine and rubs small, soothing circles down over the fabric of the shirt to the small of his back. Bohn makes a broken, hitched noise when he first hits skin, sucks in an audible breath, and Duen stops. “Hey,” he murmurs, leaning down over him and pressing kisses along the back of his neck, the shell of his ear, until Bohn tilts his head to the side and Duen can see his face. He looks wrecked already, flushed and shivering, and Duen traces a thumb down to follow a tear track to his jawline before he presses their cheeks together and nuzzles into Bohn’s shoulder. "Come here," he urges, pulling at Bohn's arm until he moves, gets his knees under him and slumps bodily against Duen's chest. "Come here."</p><p>It's not going to be like this forever, Duen reminds himself as Bohn trembles in his arms, clutches at his shirt until a button pops from the strain. But as long as it is, Duen is more than happy to provide however much or little is being asked of him. He draws languid shapes over Bohn's back, careful this time to stay on the fabric of the shirt. It still smells like him, he notes as he plants a kiss to Bohn's shoulder, rubs his cheek against his neck until their scents mull together in the air. "I'm gonna tell you a story," he says suddenly.</p><p>Bohn's ragged breaths choke into a hiccupping laugh. "What?"</p><p>"Mm," Duen confirms, counting out the knobs of his boyfriend's spine as he keeps track of the thrill of his heart behind his ribs. "Once, there was this guy. Kinda dumb but earnest. Maybe a bit too earnest, actually," he admits. "Anyways, he was so earnest he spent way too much time studying and having no fun. He went out drinking so rarely he could knock himself out in less than two shots. Anyways, N'Dumb fell asleep on a bench one day because he stayed up for forty-eight hours straight studying for a test. He was so tired, in fact, that when he woke up to a gorgeous boy staring down at him he punched him right in the face."</p><p>"Oh <em> my god</em>?" Bohn wheezes against his neck. "Why are you-"</p><p>"Shhhhh. Phi." Bohn shuts up immediately. "So there's N'Dumb, brutally assaulting someone who was just trying to save him from getting eaten by a monster lizard. What an idiot, right? Wrong." He feels Bohn's laughter die down against him, and traces his fingers up and down his back, listens to his breath hitch. His skin is hot even through the shirt, his thighs trembling where he's kneeled over Duen's lap. Duen kisses his shoulder again over the fabric and takes a moment to breathe. "See, he wasn't an idiot because this time, this stupid thing he did ended up being the best knee-jerk reaction of his life. Because that boy who woke him up is so, <em> so </em> important."</p><p>"<em>Duen</em>."</p><p>“N'Dumb was such a stick in the mud, too focused on the wrong things. He thought his phi was too pushy, and rowdy. A waste of time. But really he's-" he kisses Bohn's neck, tastes a bit of that honeyed energy on his skin as he arches into the touch and gasps. "He's so kind, and sweet, and he knows all the best ways to show N'Dumb what he's been missing out on. He took him to the floating market even though he thought it was silly. He took him to the movies, to ice cream. He took him camping and let him kiss him under the stars." He noses his way up Bohn's neck, mindful of every breath that stutters through him, every clench of fingers into his shirt. "His phi likes to be spoiled, and N'Dumb likes spoiling him. He deserves to be spoiled. He's so good." He kisses Bohn's jaw, his cheek, the corner of his eye, his hairline. "So good."</p><p>"If you make me cry again I'm gonna be pissed," Bohn gasps. </p><p>Duen grins against his skin, places one last kiss on his cheek and leans back. This time Bohn meets his eyes readily, does so steadily despite how flushed he is, how each breath is still staggered and panting. "There you are," he whispers, reverent. </p><p>Bohn's whole face twists with understanding, torn between a laugh and a sob that hitches harshly and audibly in his lungs. "God, you're so . . ." He frames Duen's face with his hands, mutters some nonsensical curse as he leans in to kiss him. "You're so <em> cute</em>. So <em> dumb</em>."</p><p>"The cutest little dumb?" Duen grins. </p><p>"<em>My </em> cutest little dumb," Bohn corrects. He kisses him again, but this time he does it with his whole body. There's heat coming off of him in waves now, and Duen can't help but lean into him, let his hands trail down to clench around his middle. Even though he doesn't go lower yet it still makes Bohn ripple against him, leaves him gasping out a noise against Duen's mouth that licks fire through his veins. They're flush together now, Duen realizes, his heart stuttering in his chest as the little details of it all start to become more noticeable. There a spot on his right thigh where the fabric of his pants is starting to stick to his skin, damp where Bohn is-</p><p>His brain screeches to a halt, his breath catching in his chest, and he breaks the kiss to press his face into the crook of Bohn's neck. <em> God</em>, he smells good, heady and warm and sweet in all the right ways, and Duen feels like he's going to combust just from that alone. His nerves are on fire, his knuckles white where they're fisted into the sides of Bohn's shirt. Wait. <em> Wait</em>.</p><p>"Nervous?" Bohn asks, as if he isn't shaking, too. Duen nods and tugs him a fraction closer, drags his teeth along the curve of his neck, nearly breathless with how much he wants. Fingers tangle in his hair and scrape along his scalp, pressing against his cheek until Duen lifts his head. "I trust you," Bohn says. "You know that, right? You're gonna take such good care of me, baby. I know you will."</p><p>Duen chokes on a low, visceral sound. <em> Baby</em>. God, a single word should not spark through him like that, but it does. Maybe it's just because it's Bohn that's saying it, murmuring it against the shell of his ear with such soft and latent affection. </p><p>"I trust you," Bohn repeats. "And I need you to remember that, alright?" Oh, Duen notes in a wash of sluggish, heated clarity, Bohn's walking him through it, soothing his unease because he knows how this is going to go, knows exactly what will make Duen hesitate. "I'll probably be pretty out of it later," Bohn continues. It's a preemptive sort of comfort, an explanation of the unknown territory ahead, and Duen appreciates it more than he can say. "But you're going to take such good care of me, aren't you."</p><p>The fact that it's worded like a statement, something sure and strong and true, rather than a question is what gets Duen the most. "Yeah," Duen confirms hoarsely. "Yeah, I am."</p><p>Bohn hums near his ear, low and fond, so laced with that intoxicating, honeysuckle scent that Duen's vision blurs a little the next time he takes in a breath. "You can touch me," Bohn says, nuzzling into his neck, and Duen feels his heart stall and trip over itself behind his ribs. "I want you to. <em> God</em>, Duen can't you feel that I'm-" he cuts himself off with a whine, his hips grinding down until he's flush with Duen's thigh. "<em>Fuck</em>, baby. Can't you feel what you've done to me?" </p><p>Technically Duen knows that's not how that works. Bohn would have gone into heat with or without him. But the warmth radiating from him, the wetness starting to seep into the fabric of Duen’s pants over his thigh, that punchdrunk scent in the air . . .</p><p>"I've never been this-" Bohn chokes on a desperate little noise as Duen slips his hands down his back, finally brushes his fingers over the base of his spine and the first tantalizing bits of bare skin. It feels like fire against his palm, a barely contained inferno. "<em>Duen</em>. I've never been this <em> hot</em>."</p><p>Duen sucks in a long, shuddering breath. His hand slides lower, lower, further forward, and Bohn's back arches as he dips a tentative touch into the fluttering, wet warmth of him. Deep down he knows it’s just biology, but still. <em> Still</em>. Bohn's heat is intense this time because of <em> him</em>. He's panting out tiny, hitched breaths against Duen's collarbones now because of <em> him</em>. Fuck, he <em> nested </em> for him. Bohn squirms in his arms, bites down on a poorly repressed moan, and Duen's head spins as he rocks back onto his hand like it's not enough. And it isn't, is it. Because Bohn needs-</p><p>"Are you gonna knot me?" Bohn gasps, and a thunderstorm crackles to life beneath Duen's skin. </p><p>Bohn huffs as his back hits the mattress, his eyes wide when Duen starts undoing the buttons of his shirt to shrug out of it. The air is too thick, too heated and sticky, but even when he kicks out of his pants Bohn stays in his borrowed t-shirt, his chest rising and falling with shallow, hitched breaths and and his fingers wringing in the fabric of it over his navel. Duen braces himself next to his waist on the mattress and stares down at him, the fingers of his other hand skimming down, slowly, slowly. He slips a thumb under the hem of the shirt, starts pushing it up, and watches through half-lidded eyes as Bohn tenses beneath him but doesn't stop him. Duen gets it over his head first, tosses it aside and spends careful, lingering minutes kissing his way back across Bohn's body. He takes his time on his ribs, holds his breath as he counts them with his mouth, a drag of his teeth, until Bohn’s hands abandon their place over his abdomen to grapple into his hair instead. Only then does he work his way lower, his ears straining as he finally traces the unmistakable streak of scar tissue with sanguine assuredness. Bohn's breath catches audibly, and Duen hates how he freezes at the touch. His fingers tighten in his hair, but he doesn't force him away. Even in the low light Duen can see the pulled tight and pink edges of it. With clothes on it would lie just beneath the line of Bohn's pants, well hidden, a last kept secret. He'd been fourteen, Duen thinks as he presses a kiss to the line as if he can brush back the years, soothe away the ache that's long healed over. It's just a scar now, but Bohn's voice staggers, a lost little sound escaping him as Duen gifts the band of tissue another reverent press of his lips. "Love you," he whispers, and the noise Bohn makes breaks his god damn heart. </p><p>The fingers in his hair tighten, tug insistently, and Duen lets himself be dragged back up for Bohn to pepper hot, trembling kisses to his neck, his cheek, his mouth. There's a hunger there now, a quiet thrum of it in the barely-there space between them. "You will, right?" Bohn asks, and the words sound strangled, leave him in pants and groans, and it takes Duen's brain awhile to catch up, to remember the last thing asked of him and connect the dots. </p><p>"Yeah," he whispers. "I want to. Is that okay?"</p><p>He's working his way back down Bohn's body again, mapping out a path of bruises to bloom in petals over his skin. Bohn doesn't answer for awhile, and Duen can tell he's starting to slip by the way he rolls up into every touch, how any words he does try fall away into breathless, hopeless pants. Eventually though Bohn gets his bearings enough to choke out, "I've never been knotted," and Duen goes utterly still where he's mouthing at the inside of one of his thighs. </p><p><em> What</em>? </p><p>The math checks out, he thinks, almost delirious with the thought. Bohn's last partner was most likely close to his own age, probably also newly presented. They woundn't have been able to-</p><p>"Let me," he hears himself say, low and almost dark with desire, and watches Bohn shiver beneath him. "Will you? God, Bohn, I . . ." It's almost overwhelming how desperately he wants, how much he <em> needs </em> just from those words alone. So simple a confession to have spurred on such fierce and heated hunger. He wants. He <em> wants</em>. "Let me," Duen whispers, brushing their cheeks together, breathing against his neck. Bohn smells like him, even beneath the sweet lull of his heat. "I want to make you mine." Hormone brain, Duen acknowledges. That's not really how it works. Regardless, the rational part of him is barely present enough for that, fresh and possessive murmurings falling from his lips even though he knows they're nonsense. But his body doesn't, his body is wrought together with fire and instinct, the heat of his own blood in his veins and the smell of Bohn's slick in his nose. "Mine," he repeats, and Bohn hands scrabble at his shoulders. "Let me, Bohn. <em> Let me</em>."</p><p>"Y-yeah," Bohn groans, dragging him closer. He gets his arms under Duen's, scratches long lines down over his back as Duen presses insistent fingers to the underside of his thighs, parts them. "Yours." He whimpers when Duen draws his legs up around his waist, his nails digging into his shoulder blades. "<em>Hah</em>- fuck, Duen, <em> please</em>. Please, I- <em>  I'm so hot</em>."</p><p>Duen takes him slowly, the air around them punctuated only with the sounds of their own hitched and haltering breaths. Bohn bows up off the mattress, his heels bruising against Duen's lower back, and his chest heaves sharply with every inhale. He's clenching around him as soon as Duen is fully seated inside, squeezing and gasping and shuddering apart in waves and quiet, almost sobs. Oh, Duen thinks wildly, carding his fingers through Bohn's hair, dizzy as that tight, wet warmth draws tighter, <em> tighter</em>, over and over again, he's already . . . </p><p>Calling it an intense heat seems a little shy of the mark now, Duen thinks as Bohn slumps back into the blankets, flushed and panting harshly. This is <em> a lot</em>. It's an unrestrained overflow, the crack of a dam giving way. He's already come, and yet when Bohn leans back, peers up at him with hooded eyes, all Duen can see is deep, unbridled hunger reflected back at him.</p><p>"Good?" Duen asks, and it's about a hundred questions rolled into one. Most importantly he's checking to make sure Bohn is okay, but beneath that . . . Beneath that is so much more, an ocean of untapped need. Did it feel good? Did <em> he </em> make Bohn feel good? God, it's all consuming, a feverish desire to please, to watch Bohn come undone, bringing him back to that edge over and over and over again until he's flushed and satiated and <em> full</em>. He frames Bohn's face with his hands and draws him up into a kiss. It’s a lot, he thinks again, but Bohn has always been a lot, hasn’t he. And Duen loves him that way. </p><p>Bohn hums against his lips, leans into the kiss and returns it in equal measure. “Good,” he replies after a minute, a little bit out of breath, his eyes still glossy when Duen shifts back enough to look. The movement is a bit much almost immediately, and Duen groans. Bohn’s face lights up, and his eyes are so, so dark, his pupils blown wide. “Flip me over,” he says, and Duen recognizes the temporary, post orgasm clarity in his words. “Come on, <em> come on</em>,” he hisses, “Like this, okay? I want you to-” He cuts off into a whine when Duen pulls out, and Duen watches with breathless fascination as the muscles of his abdomen visibly ripple and clench beneath his skin. His control is already slipping again, Duen can tell, because it takes more effort than he’d like to get Bohn to roll over onto his stomach even though he’d been the one to ask for it. He scrabbles for one of the pillows and buries his face into it to muffle the high and heavy noise he makes when Duen pushes back in. “<em>Hah-ah </em> ! Fuck, <em> fuck</em>. Baby. I’m so-” It’s all nonsense, Duen knows, but he relishes in the sound of it anyways, enjoys the breathless, wondrous stream of consciousness when it begins to pitch into steady, choked sounds as he rocks his hips. </p><p>He takes him slowly, if only because anything else is a little too much. As it is he’s already on edge, strung too far and too fast. He’s pretty sure it’s only the most basic of instincts that keeps him from coming any sooner, his desperate need to make sure he’s deep, buried inside and tied holding him painfully on the brink. Bohn knew exactly what he was asking for when he’d gotten Duen to change positions it seems, because he accepts him so easily, practically mewling when Duen’s movements falter and he can’t help but just grind against him. He’s so close, panting out hoarse, shuddering groans against Bohn’s spine as he grabs at his hips, presses and jerks more, <em> more</em>, until Bohn gasps and fists at the sheets beneath him as the swell of Duen’s knot finally breaches him. This time it’s unmistakable when Bohn comes, the shout that it wrenches out of him a wrecked and perfect match to the way his whole body seizes up and clenches down. </p><p>Duen snaps his teeth over the back of his neck to suppress a moan, a really fruitless effort because a second later Bohn is stringing out a soft chorus of heated, overwhelmed, “<em>Oh god, oh god, oh god</em>,” that’s the perfect trigger for Duen to pulse and spill inside him. Bohn whines, his swearing twisting into heavy, startled pants, and Duen almost blacks out as he squeezes around him, quivering and gasping every time Duen's cock twitches in the very depths of his body. </p><p>Bohn is still balling the sheets up in his hands as he comes down from it, is still breathing too hard and too fast, making the prettiest noises Duen has ever heard as he gets a hand on his boyfriend's stomach and rolls them onto their sides. Bohn whimpers at the movement, his back arching into Duen’s chest. “F-<em> fuck,</em>” he chokes. “You’re still- I can feel you still-” He cuts himself off when Duen wraps an arm around his middle and shifts to dig his fingers into the skin of it. “<em>Full</em>,” Bohn gasps. “<em>God</em>, I’m so- I’m gonna end up getting-” He won’t, Duen knows, but it’s still astounding to watch, to see Bohn grapple with that thought and then let it win over, wash through him in intense waves as he shivers and sobs his way through a third too quick and too hot orgasm. And if it weren't for that, weren't for the way Bohn's voice breaks like the very idea sends an insatiable ache down through the very core of him, Duen might chalk it up to heat babble. But he knows Bohn, knows that oftentimes the things he longs for most are what someone else might consider terribly domestic and tame. </p><p>It's not just heat babble, and it's something they're going to have to talk about when they're both in their right minds, Duen thinks dizzily. But right now he can't focus on that, can't let it overwhelm him and spark up too much instinctive, carnal fire in him. His attention has to stay fixed on Bohn, has to center around making him feel good, making sure he gets through this heat as satisfied and satiated and secure as possible. </p><p>Bohn slumps in his arms after a moment, each breath heaving through him like he's just been dragged ashore. He tangles his fingers with Duen's over his middle. "<em>Fuuuuuuck</em>," he groans meaningfully, and Duen muffles a snort of a laugh into his shoulder. "I think I blacked out for a second there."</p><p>Duen kisses the line of his throat and delights in how Bohn leans into the touch, practically purring when Duen drags his teeth over his skin. "You alright?" He murmurs, and Bohn nods. </p><p>"Yeah. How long does . . ." He slides a hand down his abdomen, and Duen hooks his chin over his shoulder to watch him do it. The touch is tentative at first, when Bohn trails curious fingers down to his entrance, and Duen bites down on his lip as he finds the place where they're connected. Bohn sucks in an almost startled breath that tips dangerously close to a moan, and Duen shudders. "Does this last awhile? I fast-forward through this bit in porn."</p><p>"Please don't talk about porn while I'm inside you," Duen says flatly, and Bohn snickers. "Anywhere between fifteen minutes and a half hour." He licks his lips, and after a moment of internal debate, decides to test his earlier theory. "Do you know why alphas tie their mates?" There's no way Bohn doesn't know, he's absolutely asking an entirely rhetorical question. But he wants to see how he reacts. Bohn's breath stutters in his lungs a little, but he doesn't reply, stays silent, his fingers clenching between Duen's across his stomach. "It's so no one else can breed them," Duen says before he loses the nerve. "So that no one else can breed <em> you </em> but <em> me</em>."</p><p>Bohn whines, hoarse and visceral as he clamps down around him. "<em>Don't</em>. Oh my <em> god</em>." He's still so tight on Duen's knot, but the walls of him manage to squeeze a little tighter yet, wring a groan out of Duen's throat. "<em>Fuck</em>." They're still bound together, and Duen grits his teeth and tries to grind up into him even more anyways, chasing the obvious pleasure in Bohn's voice. God, it's addicting, making Bohn fall apart so thoroughly he can <em> feel it</em>. But it's not enough this time, not when he doesn't have the maneuverability. </p><p>"Show me," he gasps against Bohn's neck, gliding a hand over his body. "Show me how to make you come again.”</p><p>Bohn’s already grabbing his hand, guiding it down, <em> down </em> as he nods. He’s panting again the second he gets Duen’s fingers on the right spot. His entire body has gone pliant, is putty in Duen’s arms, but he’s coherent enough still to give instruction, even if most of it ends up cut off in low, heavy moans. “Not too hard, you want to-” he chokes on a strangled little sound, and Duen marvels at how just a careful, purposeful circling of the pads of his fingers over that bud of nerves has Bohn fluttering around him. “Y-yeah. Just like that. <em> Fuck</em>, baby, I’m gonna-” </p><p>This time when he comes the noise he makes is an outright keen, high and unrestrained. His nails bite into the arm Duen still has around his waist as he clenches up, tighter, hotter, as if he wasn’t already milking Duen’s knot for all he’s worth inside him in the first place. He’s oversensitive within seconds, trembling with ragged breaths and every inch of him flushed and feverish. “Good?” Duen asks again, and Bohn nods.</p><p>He lets him rest after that, draws nonsensical symbols over his chest and keeps track of how the heat of his skin swelters just a tad hotter before it simmers down into a much lower burn. By the time his knot slips out Bohn’s all but dozing, his face buried in the crook of Duen’s arm under his head. “I’ll be down for a few hours,” he whispers when Duen shifts to tug one of the blankets up from the edge of the nest and pull it over them. “And I probably won’t peak till midday tomorrow.”</p><p>“Okay,” Duen returns. He’ll get up in a bit, clean them both up and try and cook a few more simple meals. For now though, “When you peak . . .” he draws off, uncertain. It’s different for everyone. But Bohn reads the unspoken question well enough.</p><p>“I trust you,” Bohn reiterates sleepily. “I’m gonna be pretty out of it, so I’m drilling that into your head right now while I have the clarity to. Understand?”</p><p>Duen swallows. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Good,” Bohn yawns. “Because I want you to take care of me. You’ve been so, <em> so good </em> so far.” He hums and rolls over onto his stomach, bundling one of the pillows up beneath him and sighing into the plush roll of it. “So good,” he mumbles. “Perfect. I can’t even fucking believe . . .” He shakes his head, and Duen ignores the mutter that sounds distinctly like, “<em>Don’t deserve you,</em>” before it threatens to tear out his heart. </p><p>He waits until Bohn falls asleep to get up, makes sure he’s warm and thoroughly tucked into the space he’s created for himself and still spends long, lingering minutes leaving kisses along the back of his neck and shoulders. </p><p>~~~~***~~~</p><p>Bohn peaks at just about noon the next day exactly, actually. Like, nearly on the dot to his own prediction, and Duen knows he’s going to have his hands full almost immediately because the first thing Bohn does is blink out of a dead sleep and roll over to pin him down on the mattress. He’s all touch and breathy sounds, busy within seconds nuzzling at Duen’s neck and murmuring soft affections into his skin. “Y'smell good,” he rumbles, and heat coils low in Duen’s gut. </p><p>“Oh?” he asks, half teasing and half entirely serious. Faintly, he wonders if Bohn’s sense of smell has been affected by the hormone blockers, because it’s not like Duen hasn’t been scenting him like a possessive weirdo since they started dating. Actually, he thinks with a flicker of guilt, that might explain some of Bohn’s earlier jealousy issues. If he hadn’t been able to smell that Duen was marking him, he probably thought . . .</p><p>He makes a quick mental note to look into the side effects of Bohn’s prescription later and then banishes all of that from his mind as Bohn wiggles a little ways down his body and grinds against him. God, he’s already so wet, and it doesn’t take much of him moving against Duen’s body like that, hot and needy, to get him achingly hard. “Here,” he says, getting his hands under Bohn’s thighs, urging him up onto his knees properly. Bohn goes with minor reluctance, his eyes glazed and a whine working its way out of his lungs, clearly loathe to break out of whatever reverie he has going with rubbing his face all over Duen’s throat. But once he realizes what Duen’s trying to do he’s quick to obey, shuffling back until the head of Duen’s cock bumps up against the core of him. Duen works his hands up, gets them around the jut of Bohn’s hips and tightens his grip as Bohn tries to take him way too fast. “Careful. Hey, eye contact,” he orders, relieved when Bohn stops and stares at him. The heat is radiating off of him in waves, spilling into the air with that intoxicating sugared smell, and Duen flexes his fingers against his waist as he steadies himself. “Slowly,” advises quietly. </p><p>Bohn listens, braces his hands on his chest, and lets Duen guide him down until he’s breathing raggedly and trying to suppress a shuddering sound by tugging his bottom lip up between his teeth. He’s on his knees again almost as soon as he’s fully seated though, pushing up and falling back down with a strangled little, “<em>Hah</em>!” that rips a hint of a growl from between Duen’s teeth. </p><p>It takes a lot more self restraint than he’d like to hold himself still, to let Bohn just take what he needs. Bohn’s hands on his chest are so hot he half worries they’ll brand him, and that’s nothing compared to the tight heat inside him, growing tighter in seconds and intervals as Bohn chases his release. It’s the way Bohn’s panting though that really gets him, low and loud, hitching when he grinds down and makes Duen’s cock to hit just right. He’s almost on edge just from that alone, and he can’t help but meet Bohn on the next movement, the one after, thrusting up into him as his knot starts to swell. The haze in Bohn’s gaze only darkens though, and his arms shake until the left one gives out and he falls forwards against Duen’s chest. “F-fuck,” he gasps along Duen’s jaw, nails scratching down over his collarbone. “You gonna knot me?” It’s almost goading the way he says it, like a dare, and Duen sucks in a startled breath when he immediately follows it with a breathy and dazed, “Gonna put a baby in me?”</p><p>He has Bohn on his back almost before he even registers he’s moved. Bohn groans beneath him, his hands scrabbling at Duen’s shoulders as he’s practically bent in half. His body rolls up into Duen’s with every movement even as it drives the air out of his lungs. If Duen weren’t already half wild with how coyly those words had been said, it would be Bohn’s refrain of broken, desperately helpless noises that that tip him over the edge. As it is he barely manages a dozen more hard and shallow thrusts before he grinds his knot against Bohn’s center, gasps as it pops inside, and spills so suddenly and so harshly he sees stars. Luckily, a heated Bohn is an easy Bohn, and he’s shuddering apart with a choked cry right on his partner’s heels in a heartbeat. </p><p>“That was-” Duen heaves out as soon as he has the breath to, “That was <em> cheating</em>.” As if sex is some kind of competition, a field upon which one can work their partner up to a breaking point like they're a rival to keep score with. But that's exactly what Bohn just did, and Duen frowns down at him, feeling distinctly annoyed even as his cock gives a telling twitch inside that tight, warm heat. </p><p>Bohn blinks up at him under the curve of his arm he’s thrown over his face, his eyes glassy but utterly unrepentant. His cheeks are flushed pink, his chest still heaving with uneven inhales, and as Duen shifts over him to cup a hand under his chin and tilt his head up he just smirks, slow and almost dangerous. When he doesn’t respond to the accusation after a minute, and then two, Duen sighs and leans down to kiss along the line of his jaw, over his throat, nosing into his scent markers and rubbing his cheek along them. “Alright,” he murmurs against Bohn’s sternum. “I’ve got you, phi. I’ve got you.”</p><p>Faintly, Duen sort of wishes Bohn had elaborated that his version of being "out of it" with his heat really just meant he was going to turn into an insatiable, spoiled bully. But on the other hand he's not exactly surprised. That's pretty par for the course. For Bohn at least. It's the quiet that isn't, but Duen reminds himself that that's almost textbook peak heat behavior, and tries not to let it worry him. Bohn trusts him, and if the soft, pleased, purr of a hum he makes in the back of his throat when Duen nuzzles against him is anything to go by, he's pretty satisfied with what's going on. And besides, Bohn has always spoken to him with his body better than his words anyways. He's made of clingy touches, tangled fingers and the weight of leaning against each other. Duen likes to think he's gotten pretty good at reading him, at least enough to know when he's doing something Bohn doesn't like. Whether or not that's because Bohn knows how to pout and sulk harder than anyone he's ever known is beside the point. </p><p>And boy does he fucking sulk. Hell, he's sulking almost before Duen even pulls out of him, and Duen startles as Bohn's thighs squeeze around his waist and his fingers dig into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. He's breathing out hard through his nose, his eyes narrowed, and Duen braces an arm next to his head on the mattress, reeling a little at how painfully turned on he is so soon. "Hey," he scolds, but Bohn just holds onto him harder, a low sound that pitches between a whine and a growl uttered between them. <em> Okay then</em>. Duen stares at him and then wiggles his free hand down to crook two fingers into Bohn's heat. "You're a mess," he murmurs, because he is. It's sliding out around Duen's knuckles, <em> for fuck's sake</em>, and it's not like he's not dazzlingly aware that it's <em> his</em>. "You should let me clean you up first."</p><p>It's more of a suggestion than anything, and he knows even before Bohn opens his mouth that it's definitely not one he's even remotely considering. "Coward," Bohn mutters. </p><p>". . . Excuse me?" <em> Bully</em>, Duen thinks wildly. Is he really about to be bullied into-</p><p>Bohn sniffs, like he's the one who should be offended, and turns his face away but keeps the eye contact, distinctly and disgustingly salacious as he pouts, "Thought you were trying to breed me."</p><p>Yep. Okay. Uh-huh. Krisada Duenhaw is officially not above being menaced by his own damn boyfriend into fucking him so hard he can't think straight. He gets his hands around Bohn's waist and manhandles him onto his stomach, taking in the almost malicious, utterly pleased smirk Bohn casts him over his shoulder as he sinks into him. The grip he's holding is borderline bruising already, but Bohn wiggles his hips and tries to rock back onto him despite it. And really, between the two of them, he's not actually sure who's being more rough. </p><p>"Bite me like you mean it if it's too much," Duen warns, relieved when Bohn nods and takes the hand he offers and draws it up next to his body to tangle their fingers together. </p><p>And then, because it's Bohn, and he's lost every last filter he barely had in the first place now that he's blitzed out and strung wild on his heat, he mutters, "Better fuck me like you mean it then."</p><p>Duen's going to bring this up later, he really is. He's going to wave this exact moment in Bohn's face the next time he tries to complain that he never gets what he wants. “You’re so fucking spoiled, phi,” Duen chides lowly, and snaps his hips forward.</p><p>The noise Bohn makes is positively obscene, and he scrabbles at the sheets as his entire body is pushed up the mattress every time Duen fucks into him. He’s on edge within a minute, and Duen peppers his back with soft kisses that sharply contrast the force he’s using as Bohn shudders apart with a gasp, gripping his hand so tightly against his chest that it hurts. But he doesn’t bite him, merely chokes on a high, desperate groan that sounds far too unsatisfied for Duen’s liking. He takes his free hand and runs it down the length of Bohn’s spine without letting up, testing the heat under his skin with careful presses of his fingers. He’s still so flushed, still trembling and panting just from the fire of his own body. The hair at the nape of his neck is damp with sweat, and Duen weaves his fingers through it and twists until Bohn tips his head to the side enough for him to see his eyes again. He groans and squeezes them shut as soon as their gazes lock, and Duen has to let go of his hair to quickly get a hand to his abdomen as Bohn’s legs shake and buckle, almost toppling them. </p><p>Dragging Bohn’s hips back up gets him a better angle. Duen curses as the heat around him bears down so suddenly it takes his breath away, slows him down into shallow, heavy thrusts while Bohn shudders out a choked cry that leaves his ribs heaving with every breath. The orgasm only serves to aid the way though, and Duen gasps with near relief as he feels his knot slip back in on the fresh slide of slick. “<em>Fuck</em>,” he groans, and Bohn squeezes his hand so hard when he comes inside that he feels his knuckles pop between his fingers. </p><p>The first few minutes of being tied are always almost painfully oversensitive, and Duen hisses as he guides them down, rolls them onto their sides so he can bury his face in Bohn’s shoulder. His skin is still way too hot. Duen murmurs soft sympathies into his neck, and rubs his cheek over the underside of Bohn’s jaw. “I know,” he whispers when Bohn starts to squirm, tries to get a hand down to himself, and Duen regrets having to stop him. If Bohn clenches down on him again like that so soon he’s genuinely afraid he might pass out, and that won’t do either of them any good. “Give me a minute, phi. I know. Just give me a minute.”</p><p>He takes five, and his head still spins a little when he manages to work Bohn up into a quivering mess again. This time when he pulls out Bohn doesn’t protest immediately, though the look he gives Duen over his shoulder is so beyond pissed that Duen freezes up anyways. “Don’t give me that,” Duen chides, “look at you. You’re a wreck. You can’t even hold yourself up.”</p><p>Bohn rolls his eyes and huffs into the pillows, curling into himself where he still lays on his side. Duen tries not to feel too guilty. He knows this is just going to be how it is, probably for at least the next half dozen hours or so, but he has zero desire to wear them both into the ground just because Bohn has mastered the art of being petulant. Still though, he muses as he traces lazy shapes over his boyfriend’s chest, trying to soothe away some of the misplaced hurt, it has to be uncomfortable. “Cold bath?” he suggests, but Bohn just turns away from him more, scooting forward until they’re no longer nestled together. God, the fucking drama. </p><p>Duen sits up, cards a hand through Bohn’s hair, and then gets to his feet to grab something to eat. He’d like both of them to do so, but he knows Bohn won’t be even remotely inclined to until he’s past this point. While the food spins around in the microwave he refills the bowl of warm water he’s been using and carries it back to the nest to try and clean Bohn up a bit. But Bohn tenses up when he approaches, and then has the gall to bat Duen’s hands away when he tries. </p><p>“Okay,” Duen sighs, “now you’re just being a brat.” With great reluctance he manages to pin Bohn’s hands over his head, pressing apologetic kisses to his throat as he wets the washcloth. Bohn hisses as soon as it makes contact with his skin, oversensitive, and after a moment where Duen just has to settle for his job being done satisfactorily, he lets go and allows him roll away. </p><p>The absolute reproach in Bohn’s glare hurts, but the muttered, broken sounding, “Fuck off,” really stings. </p><p>Duen knows he doesn’t mean it, understands the basic biology of the physical discomfort and high strung emotions of being at the peak of a heat or rut, but it still makes a lump form in his throat. Bohn buries his face in one of the pillows, and Duen takes the bowl back to the kitchen and tries to ignore the way his chest aches in the wake of it. </p><p>He watches Bohn rearrange the nest while he eats. The blankets are pushed back to the edges again, and the pillows carefully kneaded into whatever Bohn is trying to get them to be. He’s stubborn about whatever he’s doing, even though from where Duen is sitting it looks like total nonsense. Everything is placed with utmost consideration, and when one of the couch cushions flops over when it’s stood on end, Bohn lets out a frustrated little sound that has Duen packing up his dishes and striding into the bathroom to clean up. He hates that noise, hates how visceral it comes out over such a little thing, and the fact that he knows Bohn can’t help it, can’t control what’s going to make him upset, almost makes it worse. </p><p>Duen brushes his teeth and scrubs at his face as quick as he can. He notes the imprints of fingers purpling onto the curve of his shoulders, a matching pair to the scratch marks on his back, and gets distracted for a heartbeat until he hears a full on, shuddering sob echo from the living room. </p><p>Shit. Shit, shit, <em> shit</em>.</p><p>He skids across the hardwood and almost crashes into the kitchen counter, horrified when he catches sight of Bohn curled into the very thickest part of the blankets and pillows, shaking with huge, heaving breaths. “Oh no, <em> Bohn</em>. No, no, no. I didn’t leave. Bohn, <em> no</em>.”</p><p>The fact that he manages to roll Bohn over without a fight isn’t a relief this time, especially not when all it results in is Bohn surging up into him, clinging to him like he’s the last port in a storm meant to rend the world in two. “I’m sorry,” Bohn chokes out into the space between his neck and shoulder. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Duen makes an injured sound in the back of his throat. “<em>No</em>. Come on, Bohn. I’m not mad. You’re allowed to snap at me, I knew you didn’t mean it. I’m not mad.” He knows Bohn doesn’t mean this, too, but it still threatens to break his fucking heart. “Bohn,” he consoles, pulling him up into his lap and sweeping his hands down his back, trying to banish the shaking from his frame. “<em>Bohn</em>. Phi. It’s okay. I’m not mad. You’ve been . . . You’ve been <em> so </em> good. How could I be mad at you? Here. Come here.” It takes a bit of effort to get Bohn to look at him, long minutes of just stroking his tear stained cheek, pressing kisses over the shell of his ear, but eventually he peeks at him out of the corner of one eye and lets Duen tug his face up. “Do I Iook mad?"</p><p>The stare Bohn levels him with is suspicious as fuck. Duen almost snorts out a laugh at the sight of it, and desperately hopes the shaking of his shoulders comes off as literally anything else. “No . . .” Bohn admits somewhat reluctantly. Duen wonders if it’s too mean to try and snap a picture of his face, because he knows he’s going to be absolutely mortified by all this later. He settles for just regaling (or torturing) him with the story of it instead. “But you . . .” He swallows hard, his eyes darting away again. “You didn’t want to fuck me . . .”</p><p>Oh for- “Some of us,” Duen says as evenly as he can, now torn between laughing and being just a tad bit actually annoyed, “are not in heat right now and need to eat to maintain our stamina.” The suspicious look is back, as if Bohn doesn’t believe in basic science, and it’s now combined with one of his patented petulant frowns. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” Duen teases, rubbing their noses together, and Bohn snorts and tries to lean away from him. It’s all for show though, because he’s still seated soundly in Duen’s lap, is still wet and hot against him, and he never unwinds his arms from where they’re looped around Duen’s neck.</p><p>Bohn raises an eyebrow at him, mouth twisted up in the tiniest of pouts. It’s a question in and of itself, hesitant and still a little unduly hurt, and Duen’s heart aches when he tightens his arms around his shoulders as if he thinks he might actually be shaken off. </p><p>Duen slides his hands down his boyfriend’s back, presses insistent fingers to the curve of his ass and then over  to the underside of his thighs. “Yeah,” he answers the wordless inquiry. “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? Come here.”</p><p>With nearly two days of this behind them, sliding into Bohn is starting to feel deliciously like coming home. It’s full of calm and casual comforts; the breathy way Bohn sighs in his ear, the flex of his fingers over his shoulder blades, how his thighs squeeze around Duen’s sides. He mouths his way down his partner’s neck as they settle together, sucks a mark into the soft dip of skin at the base of it and listens to the way Bohn’s voice hitches into a startled “<em>ah</em>!” on the next inhale. There’s similar bruises decorating the rest of his torso, and a few dancing up the insides of his thighs, easy enough to hide but plentiful enough that Duen takes pride in the fact that it’ll be quite awhile before they all fade. He doesn’t want Bohn to spend the days after this uncertain, reflecting on almost seven years gone by where he was nothing but. Especially not after that much too real reaction to Duen just ducking into the bathroom. Thus far Bohn’s been painfully honest with everything during his heat, more so in this peak of it, and the fact that Bohn clearly had been fearing such an outcome makes Duen want to cry, too. It has nothing to do with him specifically, he knows, but that’s all the more reason to reassure Bohn that nothing of the sort will happen. A touch starved body can only be healed by painting over the old scars with new promises and careful, physical certainties. </p><p>He goes slowly this time, takes Bohn in drawn out minutes and deep, deep thrusts that have him fluttering around him in intervals. “You’ve been so good,” he murmurs when Bohn shivers, lets out a strangled moan that reverberates all the way down through him until Duen can <em> feel it</em>. “So good,” he praises. When he grinds up he does so gradually, lets Bohn work his way down against him in tandem, and drinks in the "<em>hah</em>!” that spills from his lips when the knot breaches those tight walls and ties them together. “There you go, <em> there you go</em>.” Working a hand between them, he presses diligent fingers to that little bundle of nerves, teasing until Bohn mewls and comes undone in ripples. As always he drags Duen right along with him, clenches down in wakes until he can’t help but pulse and spill inside.</p><p>“<em>Baby,</em>” Bohn sighs, loose and temporarily satiated, and Duen smiles into his shoulder and inhales the honeysuckle scent of his skin.</p><p>~~~***~~~</p><p>“I did not,” Bohn mutters as he swirls his fingers through the lukewarm water in the tub. </p><p>Duen presses a kiss to the cut of his jaw and tries not to laugh. “You did. Phi, I felt <em> so bad</em>. You were so distraught.”</p><p>Bohn huffs and tilts his head away, but leans back against Duen’s chest, stubborn in denying it but not quite enough to break the contact. His skin is still just a little too hot, and Duen knows that they probably have a few hours left ahead of them once it starts to overwhelm him again. But for the most part it’s settled down, tapered out into a much lower thrum of need by the morning of the fourth day. “I didn’t mean to,” Bohn says after a beat, and Duen nuzzles into his cheek fiercely as soon as he says it.</p><p>“I know. I told you that, remember?”</p><p>“. . . I might,” Bohn says with great reluctance. “It’s not like I forget everything, <em> unfortunately</em>. It’s just a little hazy around the edges. Hazy and <em> embarrassing</em>.” He falters for a moment, and Duen waits, listening to the telltale stuttering of his heart, and knows exactly what he’s about to bring up. “I said . . . Some other stuff, too,” he whispers, “that I maybe shouldn’t have.”</p><p>“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Duen murmurs. “We can talk about something else instead.” Bohn doesn’t respond to that other than to let out a disconcerted little hum. “I’m probably going to be pretty similar when it comes time for my rut,” he says lowly. Bohn’s heart skips a little, just enough that Duen can feel it where they’re pressed together. “I’ll say the same things.”</p><p>“What . . . What things?” His breath hitches, and Duen can’t help but kiss his throat when his adam’s apple bobs around a swallow. </p><p>He skims his hands low beneath the line of the water, flattens his palms down over Bohn’s navel and lets the tips of his fingers brush the dash of the scar below it. A wordless answer. “I want that too,” he admits, and Bohn heaves in a startled, shallow breath. “Someday. If you still want it then. When we graduate, when you’re <em> allowed</em>.” He can’t help but growl at that, the very thought of someone else having that much control over Bohn’s body leaves him frustrated, angry enough that he has to take a moment to calm himself down. “If you still want it then,” he starts over, “I’ll give it to you.”</p><p>They have plenty of time. </p><p>When he dips his fingers down, curves them inwards, Bohn arches back against him. “Too soon?” Duen asks as he clenches down around him.</p><p>“N-no. I don’t-” Bohn gasps, his nails digging into Duen’s legs on either side of him under the water. “<em>Fuck</em>. We’re gonna overflow the fucking tub. Out. <em> Out</em>.”</p><p>Duen hums, “Why? Just don’t wiggle around.”</p><p>“<em>No</em>,” Bohn protests, and this time it’s an actual growl. Duen pauses and hooks his chin over his shoulder, watching as he struggles in a breath, then another. “That’s <em> mean</em>. You can’t just- <em> Duen</em>, you can’t just tell me you want to put a baby in me someday and then <em> not </em> knot me. <em> For fuck’s sake</em>.”</p><p><em> Oh</em>. Well in that case.</p><p>Neither of them really cares that they’re still dripping wet when they tumble into the nest. The heat is petering out anyways, and it’s not like the bedding hasn’t suffered its fair share of damp in other ways already. Duen enters Bohn torturously slow, relishes in making his back arch up off the mattress and his hands twist in the sheets. Even freshly bathed his skin still tastes good, still radiates heat and honey, intoxicating when Duen trails kisses down his sternum as he rocks into him. The frenzy is gone, but Duen likes this more. He likes the unhurried pleasure of it, how Bohn murmurs his enthusiasm, his encouragements, between them and over his skin whenever he just needs to be that much closer. </p><p>“Baby,” he purrs when Duen cants in at just the right angle, has him gasping into the curve of his neck, his fingers curling against his back. “How are you so perfect? What did I do to deserve you?”</p><p>He’d asked that once before, in the midst of being too heated, too overwhelmed, and Duen had ignored it, saved his answer for when it would mean something. Gifting it to him now comes easy, feels right. “You were you.” Duen replies.</p><p>The noise Bohn makes, surprised and high and just the tiniest bit wet, leaves him breathless, aching, and he tugs at his hips to press deeper, push that last swell of himself inside. “<em> F- ah</em>! God, <em> fuck</em>,” Bohn whimpers, and he buries his face into Duen’s chest, choking on a sob as he comes.</p><p>~~~***~~~</p><p>They’re gathering up the blankets when Bohn decides to talk about it. Duen has sensed it coming for the last half hour, has been able to taste the faintest hint of fear in the air whenever Bohn stopped what he was doing and paused to give him a considering, nervous sidelong glance. The mattress has been returned to its proper place, the clothing put away in the hamper, and once Duen has all the blankets folded he can set about the tedious task of running everything through the wash. First, though, first is this.</p><p>“I was fourteen,” Bohn says without looking at him, his gaze fixed on the corner of one of the blankets in his arms as he fiddles with it, “when I had Ben.”</p><p>There’s nothing to say in response to that. It’s not a revelation, it’s something he already knew. But Bohn wants to talk about it, and Duen wants to listen to whatever he has to say. He sets the blanket he was folding aside and takes a seat on the sofa. Waiting, as always, is difficult. He watches Bohn suck in an unsteady breath, still avoiding his eyes, and after a moment places a hand on the space open beside him.</p><p>It takes him another minute, close to two, but when Bohn finally moves to climb over next to him it’s quick, all at once, and Duen has his arms full before he can even blink. He takes it in stride though, rubs his cheek over the top of Bohn’s head fiercely, possessively. With the fading scent of the heat he hopes he’s still being obvious, that Bohn can tell he’s being marked. It’s important. It’s so important that he know that. </p><p>“There was only ever a seven percent chance I would be anything other than omega,” Bohn laughs bitterly. “I don’t know why my father was so fucking surprised. <em> Seven percent</em>. Then again, I’m not sure why I was so shocked he reacted poorly. An entire line of alphas, he said, wasted. What a god damn joke.” </p><p>Duen wants to tell him he’s not a waste, but he knows it will fall on deaf ears. Bohn’s not looking for sympathy right now, he’s just trying to get it off his chest. Duen can spend the rest of his life proving to him that he’s anything but a waste.</p><p>“I was so . . . I was so <em> mad </em> . And you know me, impulsive and stubborn and so, <em> so </em>fucking stupid.”</p><p>Now that’s too far. It’s one thing for Bohn to retrace someone else’s words, but another for him to say something like that about himself. “Yeah, no,” Duen snaps, “I don’t date stupid people.”</p><p>Bohn freezes in his grip, tilts his head up slowly. “Huh?”</p><p>“I don’t date stupid people,” Duen says sharply. “You’re not stupid. Fuck, Bohn, don’t say that. You were young and angry. That’s it. That’s all there is to it.”</p><p>“I made a mista-”</p><p>Duen growls, and Bohn cuts himself off. “Don’t. <em> Don’t</em>. It wasn’t a mistake. You wouldn’t be the same person you are now without it. I <em> love you </em> the way you are now. And Ben-” He chokes then, a visceral noise, and Bohn stares at him with wide eyes. “He’s not- you don’t think that, do you? I <em> love him</em>, Bohn. He’s <em> yours.</em> I want him to be mine, too, when you tell him everything. Don’t call it a mistake.” The tears are immediate, fat and hot as they start to roll down Bohn’s cheeks. Duen pulls him in and nuzzles into his neck, holds him tight as Bohn sags against him. “I know you love him too. Bohn, you scent him when he’s asleep. I’ve seen you.”</p><p>“He’s going to hate me,” Bohn whispers hoarsely. “He’ll be . . . He’ll be nine, almost ten by the time I can tell him. But I was . . . I was so young. I couldn’t . . .”</p><p>Young, Duen thinks, small. There’s a scar to prove it. Too young to raise a child when he was still too small to even have it. </p><p>“He smells like you,” he says, and Bohn’s hands shake where they’re fisted in the back of his shirt. “That’s how I knew. I know you can’t tell, and I’m going to try and change your prescription to fix that. But he does. He smells almost exactly like you, and not just because he stays here for half the week. It’s like that when we pick him up, too.”</p><p>“. . . Really?” The broken disbelief in Bohn’s voice is so palpable it hurts, and Duen shakes his head against his neck, presses closer. </p><p>“Really.” He has no guarantees to offer, no placating words for an uncertain future. But he does know this. The bond isn’t broken, it’s strong enough still that Ben’s baby smell, the one he’s sure was woven when Bohn was still healing and allowed to hold him, hasn’t faded or been replaced with that of Bohn’s parents. “When you have less classes next year, and the one after, we can increase the number of days he stays over. Four days a week, maybe even five.” He snorts. “It’s not like it’ll be hard, your parents barely even spared time to raise <em> you</em>.”</p><p>Bohn laughs, the sound hitching and still a bit wet. “Yeah.”</p><p>“He hasn’t grown up unloved,” Duen goes on. The proof is there, more than enough for Duen to taste it in the very air of this apartment. The one time he’d even been to Bohn’s parents’ house, to drop him off drunk, he’d recoiled from the smell of the place. It had seemed so cold, sterile, such a sharp contrast to Bohn’s homey, warm scent that at first he’d thought he had the wrong address until he saw Ben in the foyer. “He hasn’t grown up unloved,” Duen reiterates.</p><p>To say more would be lying. He can’t tell Bohn he’ll be forgiven without putting words in other people’s mouths. Even if, in his opinion, there’s nothing to forgive. But Ben hasn’t gone unloved, and that, he thinks, will make all the difference when the time comes. </p><p>“And I’ll be there too,” he reminds, just in case it wasn’t obvious. “So no matter what he decides, you’ll still have me.”</p><p>Bohn chokes, “Don’t make promises like that, that’s years away still. You’ve got post-fuck alpha brain, just because I’m your first-”</p><p>“Only,” Duen corrects. “You’re going to be my <em> only</em>. Shut up.”</p><p>Bohn wisely shuts up. </p><p>“I’ll hold you to it,” he says once he stops shaking, stops heaving in hitched hiccups that Duen soothes out of him by running his fingers through his hair.</p><p>“You better. You’re such a bully, you know, so if I take too long to propose I don’t doubt you’ll-”</p><p>Bohn cuts him off with a kiss, steals whatever smart remark Duen had been about to make about his boyfriend’s heat addled actions and seals it away with his tongue over his lips. “New rule,” Bohn smirks when Duen’s cheeks pinken, “You don’t get to make fun of me for what I said and did in heat until I can pay it back in kind by letting you use me for your rut.”</p><p>Duen’s breath catches so sharply that spots dance in his eyes. “Uh . . .”</p><p>“Yeah. That’s what I fucking thought."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's going to be a sequel to this eventually. Idk when but it's fully planned out.</p><p>The line "cutest little dumb" is from the superior WeTV subs for ep 14 by the way if you haven't had the privilege of seeing them. Bohn calls Duen "the cutest little dumb" before they kiss under the stars and I'm still not over it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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